


Measuring Up

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fandom Cares, First Time, Good Peter Hale, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Penis Size, Penis insecurity, Peter is a model, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 14:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: “You look fantastic,” Stiles says. It suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t have to keep his hands to himself anymore, so he grabs Peter by the lapels and pulls him in for a kiss. “I get to touch you, now,” he says with a smile when they part.“You certainly do. I’m looking forwards to it,” Peter growls out. Stiles pushes away the thought that Peter wouldn’t be so keen if he knew that he was getting an underhung virgin.A follow up toWhy Do You think I Flirt With You?





	Measuring Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maladicta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maladicta/gifts).



> This is for Maladicta, who won a *short* fic in the latest fandom cares auction.  
> She requested " Virgin Stiles being insecure about the size of his dick, and Peter talking him through it, and then the sexing." We decided to throw it in with watch model Peter because why not?

 

When Stiles wakes up, it takes him a moment to figure out why he feels so content. Then it comes back to him – Peter asked him out. Or did he ask Peter out? It really doesn’t matter - either way, they established that they’re attracted to each other and they’re going to be a couple. Stiles is torn between wanting to call everyone he knows to brag, and clutching the secret close, something fragile and precious and new. There’s part of him that doesn’t want to jinx this. He decides that maybe he won’t say anything until he’s seen Peter in person, made sure it’s real. He can keep a secret – didn’t he hide that whole werewolf thing for ages?

He smiles as he studies for a couple of hours, smiles as he showers, smiles all through his customary Sunday phone call to his dad, and is still smiling when he arrives at work. Helen, his boss, takes one look at him and says, ”Someone’s in a better mood today.”

Stiles nods, and blurts out,”Peter and I are dating.”

“Peter? Wait, is that your model friend, the one you’ve been pining over?”

Stiles nods eagerly. “Yep. We talked on Skype, and it turns out he was interested all along, but he thought he was too old, and I told him he wasn’t, so now he wants to take me out.”

Helen high fives him. “I’m so glad for you, honey. Do you have a picture of him?” Stiles pulls up the watch commercial on his phone at the speed of light, and holds it out to her. She takes the phone and watches. Stiles sees her jaw drop at the sight of Peter in a suit ( _his boyfriend_ , he preens internally), and she hands the phone back to him with a shake of her head.

“I’m not sure whether to congratulate you on bagging that, or be mad at you for taking him off the market.”

“You should congratulate me,” Stiles says decisively. “I mean, look at him. But apart from that, he’s also smart as fu – heck,” he substitutes when he sees a mother and a small child wander in. “He has a wicked sense of humor, and he gets me.”

Helen rolls her eyes. “Are you going to spend all your time gushing over how wonderful your boyfriend is now?”

“I’ll try to keep it in check,” Stiles tells her with a grin, even as he feels a thrill at hearing the word _boyfriend_. He knows it’s silly, but he gives himself permission to enjoy it anyway. Peter and he are _dating_.

Helen nudges him, and he realizes he must have zoned out for a minute. “Stop thinking about your man, and go start the orders, okay? We’ve got that baby shower today.” Stiles nods, and starts work on the order.

It’s a big one, and it takes him an hour just to blow up the balloons, let alone arrange them on weights and add the ribbon curls. He doesn’t mind though, humming to himself as he works, making sure all twelve arrangements look the same. He’s just finishing up the last one when the phone rings, and he hears Helen pick up. “Partyland, how can I help you?” she recites in a singsong voice, and Stiles hears, “Oh! Well, hello there. Yes, of course. Give me a minute, OK?”

She pokes her head out of the office and waves at Stiles. He turns, and she puts her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. “Stiles, I have a monster headache coming on. Can you please go and get me coffee? And a couple of those muffins from the good place?” She scrabbles in the petty cash tin and holds out a twenty.

Stiles nods, and takes the cash. It’s not the first time Helen’s sent him on a coffee run. The _good place_ is ten minutes away, but Stiles enjoys the walk, specially since he’s being paid to be outside on a glorious day. It just contributes to his happy mood. Nothing can touch him today.

There’s a line at the muffin place, so it’s almost half an hour by the time he gets back to work. When he walks in, he sees Helen’s busy attaching the card to a gorgeous arrangement of blue and silver balloons, one of Stiles’s favorite combinations. “Ooh, pretty! When did we get that order?” he asks.

“A very nice man called up and requested them for his boyfriend. I just have to deliver them.” She holds the arrangement out to Stiles, and he looks at her, confused.  “They’re for you, honey. That was Peter on the phone  - I had to get you out of the store, so I could get them ready.”

Stiles’s face splits into a wide grin. “Are you telling me that Peter called you, from _Paris,_ to order these?” She nods.  Stiles does some quick mental maths, and quickly figures out that Peter must have stayed awake till midnight to make the call. He knows Peter loves his sleep, and he’s truly touched by the gesture. When he reads the inscription on the card, sees the words _your boyfriend_ , he sighs happily.

He snaps a picture and sends it to Peter with a text that says **A+ dating skills. I approve.**

He gets a reply almost instantly. _Glad you approve, sweetheart._

 **When you get back you’re getting the biggest hug for this** _-_ Stiles sends back.

 _Hoping for more than hugs, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you when I fly in next week_.

He can feel himself blushing, but he doesn’t care. Next week, he’ll get to go on a proper date with Peter, get to kiss him for the first time, get to feel those hands on his body. They’ve been not- dating for long enough that Stiles thinks they can probably skip the preliminaries, and get to the good stuff.

The next two hours of his shift fly by, and every time he glances at his bunch of balloons, bobbing gaily in the air, he thinks of Peter and grins. When it’s time to leave he gathers them up and stows them carefully in his car while Helen calls him a hopeless romantic. He just laughs and agrees with her. When he gets home he brings the balloons inside, placing them on his kitchen table and looking at them with a sigh.

He can’t wait till next week.

 

* * *

 

Stiles talks to Peter over skype on Monday briefly, but he has two classes that day and an assignment due, so he can’t spend as long as he’d like chatting.

 “I can’t wait to get back, take you out and spoil you, Stiles. Maybe if I’m lucky I might make first base,” Peter jokes.

Stiles laughs. “Not gonna lie, your chances of hitting a home run are high. I wanna bang you like a screen door in a hurricane.”

Peter grins at him widely. “That really is excellent news.” He sobers for just a moment. “You’re sure about this? About going out with me?”

Stiles nods. “I’m sure, I promise. When are you back, exactly?”

“Sometime later in the week,” Peter says vaguely, and then Stiles is distracted by Peter telling him how he can’t wait to kiss him to ask any further.

 

The last thing he expects is to come out of class on Tuesday morning to find Peter waiting by the curb, leaning against his sports car and smirking as the other students cast glances his way.

Stiles sees him there, and his heart leaps. He races over to Peter and launches himself at him, wrapping his arms and legs around Peter like he’s some sort of deranged koala. Peter laughs, startled, but he holds Stiles up easily as Stiles clings to him, face buried in his neck. “Surprise, sweetheart,” Peter says softly when Stiles lifts his face away from Peter’s collarbone.

Stiles beams at him. “What are you doing here? You said later in the week!”

“I wanted to surprise you.”  Peter looks unspeakably pleased with himself.

“Color me surprised,” Stiles breathes out. He unwraps himself from Peter, but only so that he can stand up and drape his arms over Peter shoulders. “Someone mentioned a kiss?” he murmurs as he leans in hesitantly. Peter leans in to meet him, and they share a slow, soft kiss. Peter tastes like peppermint and smells like cedar.  Stiles would like nothing better than to stand here kissing all day thank you very much, but some idiot ruins the moment by whistling at them. Stiles pulls back and sighs. Peter doesn’t seem daunted, though. “Ignore them, they’re whistling at me. I’m very attractive,” he deadpans, and Stiles can’t help but laugh.

 Peter takes him for coffee, just like he has dozens of times before. They go to their regular coffee shop, and they order the same drinks, but somehow it feels different this time. _It’s a date, that’s why,_ Stiles’s’ mind helpfully supplies. He can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face. Peter notices, and asks, “What has you looking like the cat that got the cream, sweetheart?”

Stiles gestures vaguely to the table. “I’m on a _date_ , Peter, with _you._ And it makes me happy, okay? I haven’t been on many dates.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “Really, sweetheart? I would have thought you’d have plenty of offers.”

Stiles shakes his head. ”Nobody really caught my eye, to be honest. I might have been too busy crushing on you.”

Peter’s expression becomes decidedly smug at that. “Well, I can’t say I blame you, honestly. But don’t undersell yourself, sweetheart. I find you quite delicious, and I must admit, I’m looking forwards to seeing what’s under that plaid.”

At the words, Stiles’s stomach swoops, and he‘s suddenly reminded that Peter doesn’t know about his…deficiency. He doesn’t really think this is the time to tell him, not on their first proper date, not in the middle of a coffee shop. So he deflects a little, saying,” You really think I’m going to put out on the first date? Shame on you, Peter.”

Peter laughs. “Of course not. Although I’m hoping for a chance to kiss you some more. That little peck before hardly counts.”

Stiles has to agree – he wants the taste of Peter in his mouth and the heat of Peter’s hands on his body, werewolf-strong and solid, holding him in place. “We could go back to mine and make out if you want,” he offers, eyebrows raised in invitation.

Peter immediately says, ”Ready when you are.” He drains his mug in one long draught, affording Stiles a view of his throat as he swallows, Adams apple bobbing under the tanned skin of his thick neck. Stiles has to curl his fingers into a fist to stop himself from leaning over and running them down the side of Peter’s neck as he imagines how Peter would look swallowing...other things. Assuming he’d even want to do that, once he sees what Stiles has, or rather doesn’t have, he reminds himself. A tiny sigh escapes him. Stiles doesn’t think his lack of assets will be a deal breaker, not really, but he’s realistic enough to know that Peter will probably be at least a little disappointed. He just hopes it doesn't kill the mood completely.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles never even knew his dick wasn’t normal until he was fourteen. He assumed that what he had was average, right until after their first lacrosse training session. He was undressing for the showers when Jackson glanced across, and said derisively, “Jesus, Stilinski. Look at that thing.”

Stiles looked down, confused. Was Jackson implying he was small? His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he redressed quickly to the sound of Jackson snickering, and muttering “Yeah, cover that shit up, freak.”  Stiles decided that from now on, showering at home was the way to go. He wasn’t exactly comfortable in the change rooms anyhow, the sight of all those half naked bodies only reinforcing his growing awareness that he was attracted to men as well as women. But he tucked the comment away at the back of his mind, and it came back often to haunt him, mainly late at night.

His suspicion that he was less than well hung was only reinforced by an unfortunate incident when he was sixteen, where he walked into the bathroom late one night, only to find his dad there, hard length held in his hands.  “Oh my god Dad, no!  Lock the door!” Stiles had screeched, covering his eyes and bolting back to his bedroom. John emerged red faced from the bathroom shortly afterwards, and stuck his head in Stiles’s bedroom door. He looked like he was about to speak, but Stiles shook his head. “Nope. John opened his mouth once more, but Stiles put his hands over his ears. “Lalalala, I’m not listening,” he chanted.

John sighed, and closed the door with a firm click, leaving Stiles with the image of John’s cock imprinted onto his retinas and burned into his brain. And Stiles couldn’t help but notice that his dad was bigger than Stiles, by, like, a _lot_. Stiles knew he still had some growing to do, but compared to his dad, he wasn’t even _average_. And everyone in the gay porn he furtively watched was much bigger than him.

Stiles could put two and two together – he knew what he didn’t have. It was something he accepted, like his ADHD.  It was also part of the reason he didn’t do casual sex – was in fact, still a virgin. He figured if someone liked him enough to date him properly, maybe they’d like him enough to overlook his shortcomings, and it wouldn’t be an issue.

He guesses he’s about to find out.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re barely in the door of Stiles’s apartment before Stiles is making grabby hands at Peter and pulling him into his arms for a kiss. Stiles is just a touch shorter than Peter, so he has to tilt his head back to make their mouths fit comfortably together. Peter kisses him like a man possessed, pressing his tongue inside Stiles’s mouth and exploring, taking his time. Stiles opens his mouth eagerly, closing his eyes and letting Peter take control, enjoying the hardness of a male body pressed against his, the scent of cologne and coffee strong in his nostrils. When Peter pulls away, they’re breathing heavily. “You smell good, did anyone ever tell you that?”

Peter kisses Stiles once more before answering. “Glad to hear it, this aftershave costs a small fortune.” Stiles would think he’s boasting, except that Peter adds, “I save it for special occasions.”

Stiles can’t help but grin. “So, I’m a special occasion?”

“You certainly are. I flew back early for you, didn’t I?” It’s obviously a rhetorical question, because Peter doesn’t give Stiles a chance to answer, instead kissing him again, a little more hungrily this time. Stiles is completely on board with that, and he barely notices Peter walking him backwards and steering him towards the couch as they kiss, too caught up in the pleasant sensation of Peter’s tongue running over his teeth, his hands warm and firm on Stiles’s hips. The back of his legs bump into the couch and he stumbles a little before sitting down. Peter comes with him, mouth still pressed against his, but he breaks the kiss to ask Stiles, “Is this all right, sweetheart? I don’t like to assume.”

Stiles nods eagerly. “It’s more than all right. Wanna kiss me some more, maybe let me get my hands inside your shirt?” He pulls Peter closer, and gives in to his earlier impulse to run a finger down the side of his neck. Peter closes his eyes and hums. “You have lovely hands, Stiles. I can’t wait to see what they can do.”

Stiles is the one who initiates the kiss this time. He runs his hands up and down Peter’s sides, down his back, everywhere he can touch, revelling in the firm muscles under his hand. He tugs at Peter’s shirt, untucking it from his dress pants, and slides his hands up over bare skin. Peter shivers as Stiles’s fingers skate over his ribs, and he wraps one hand around the back of Stiles’s head, holding him in place as he kisses him back, all passion and hunger and _want._ Stiles somehow finds himself with Peter straddling him, pressing firmly against Stiles and rocking his hips, the growing bulge in his pants evident. Stiles’s own dick is making its presence known, hardening and straining against his jeans.  He’s just about decided that maybe he _does_ put out on the first date when Peter pulls back.

He’s slightly out of breath when he says, “Sweetheart, we need to stop.”

Stiles can’t help the disappointed whine in his voice. “Really?”

 “Really. We said we’d make out a little, and I’m afraid I’m finding you very difficult to resist. If we keep this up, I’m going to end up fucking you on this couch, and you deserve better than that.”

Dammit. Stiles can’t even be annoyed, because Peter’s being a damned gentleman. He sighs, before asking, ”When we go out to dinner tonight, is that a second date? Cause pretty sure you could convince me to put out on a second date.”

Peter smiles at him, and it’s sharp and hungry. “Oh, I'm sure I could, sweetheart. Will you let me try?”

“Yes, please,” Stiles says, before giving in to the temptation to just bury his face in the crook of Peter’s neck and breathe him in deeply. Whatever the cologne is, Stiles is addicted already, and when Peter wraps his arms around him and holds him there, Stiles is, for those few moments, perfectly content.

Eventually though, he has to let go, if only because Peter abruptly lets out a huge yawn, and Stiles remembers with a start that he’s probably jetlagged. “Peter, have you even slept since you got home?”

Peter shakes his head. “Wanted to see you first. But I’ll go and nap now, so I’m well rested for tonight.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Stiles has to laugh.

A quick glance at the clock shows Stiles that it’s barely twelve. He shoves Peter out the door, saying, “Go and get some sleep. Pick me up at eight.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles dutifully pretends to study for a full hour before he gives it up as a bad job. Instead he googles “first time sex” in preparation for tonight - he has definite plans. Then he goes through his clothing to see if he has anything remotely decent to wear, and sighs over the state of his wardrobe.  After that he makes a quick trip to the mall, and comes away with some halfway decent dress pants and a cobalt blue button down.

By then it’s nearly six, (he spent _way_ longer on google than he should have, probably), so he goes and has a long, extremely thorough shower. If he works a couple of fingers into his ass to loosen himself up and then jerks off, well, that’s his business. His hair refuses to cooperate, so by the time he’s dressed and ready it’s almost seven. He has an hour to kill. In the end he pulls up his Steam account and manages to forget his nerves by playing games. It’s seven forty when there’s a knock at the door. He opens it to find Peter, standing there grinning.

“Hello, sweetheart. You look simply stunning.”

Peter himself looks like he just stepped off the pages of GQ, in a crisp white shirt and deep blue suit that fits him like a glove and clings to him in all the best ways. Stiles doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks him up and down. “Hot damn,” he breathes out, and Peter laughs, twirling dramatically.

“You like it?”

“You look fantastic,” Stiles says. It suddenly occurs to him that he doesn’t have to keep his hands to himself anymore, so he grabs Peter by the lapels and pulls him in for a kiss. “I get to touch you, now,” he says with a smile when they part.

“You certainly do. I’m looking forwards to it,” Peter growls out. Stiles pushes away the thought that Peter wouldn’t be so keen if he knew he was getting an underhung virgin.

The restaurant is excellent, the company even better. Stiles has missed Peter while he’s been away, and it’s good to be able to talk to him and laugh with him, tell him about the odd requests they’ve had come though the store, about the professor he has who Stiles is certain is a Were, and listen to Peter’s mock outrage at having to get up early on this latest campaign. Peter flirts shamelessly all night, making suggestions and innuendos at every opportunity.

He's delighted to hear that that Stiles has no classes the next day, and tells him plainly that he plans to wear him out tonight. Stiles, for his part, flirts right back, telling Peter that if he’s not passed out from pleasure by midnight, then Peter’s not doing his job. But when Peter tells Stiles in a low tones exactly what he plans to do to him later, Stiles shivers at the thought, feels the heat pooling in his belly, and suddenly it’s not so much flirting as foreplay. Peter looks at him steadily, eyes dark with desire, before asking, ”Shall we go back to my place, sweetheart?”

Stiles swallows and nods, and Peter leads him out of the restaurant, hand possessively pressed against the small of Stiles’s back. Stiles starts to get a little jittery on the drive back to Peter’s, foot tapping restlessly and fingers drumming against his knees, but Peter doesn’t comment. It’s only when they pull up at his townhouse that Peter says, “You know Stiles, I could drop you off home, if you’d prefer.”

Stiles honestly considers it, for about three seconds. But then he mentally gives himself a slap. This is _Peter,_ for God’s sake. If there’s one person that he can trust with this, it’s him. Besides, Stiles wants all the things Peter promised him, wants to feel Peter’s hands on his body, wants to finally, finally get fucked. He shakes his head. “Nope, this is good.”

He sees Peter’s nostrils flare, before asking, “You’re sure? You smell nervous.”

Stiles bites his lip, before admitting, “I’ve never done this before, that’s all.”

Understanding dawns on Peter’s face, and he murmurs, “Of course. I’m sorry sweetheart, I should have realized when you told me you hadn’t dated much. My offer still stands. I can take you home.”

Stiles doesn’t want to go home. What he wants is to get Peter inside, get his clothes off, and run his hands over every inch of him. But it seems like a stupid thing to say sitting in the car, so Stiles settles for, “I want you to do all those things you told me about over dinner.”

Peter smiles wickedly. “I’m glad, sweetheart, because I want that too.”

Peter guides him up the path to the front door, and Stiles leans against Peter’s side, soaking up the warmth. Once they’re inside, Peter puts a hand on each side of Stiles’s face and kisses him slowly, easily, like they have all the time in the world. Stiles lets himself get lost in the sensation, and he lets out a happy sigh when Peter’s hands slide down to his ass and stay there, holding him close.

He lets his own hands travel down, settling them at Peter’s waist. They kiss and kiss, and Stiles can feel Peter’s cock pressing against him through his pants. Peter murmurs, ”Shall we get a little more comfortable?” like the world’s cheesiest Lothario, but somehow it doesn’t sound cheesy when he says it, it sounds seductive and promising.

Stiles murmurs, “Yeah, lets,” and Peter leads him to his bedroom. It’s nothing like Stiles expected – somehow, he’d pictured red velvet and gold trim, but instead the room’s decorated in deep blues and soft greys, modern and stylish, much like it’s owner. Peter takes his jacket and tie off, and undoes the top three buttons on his shirt, before unbuttoning a few on Stiles’s as well. Then he toes his shoes off and lays back on the bed, patting the spot next to him to indicate Stiles should do the same.

Stiles pulls his shoes off and joins Peter on the bed. He half expects Peter to strip further, but Peter’s apparently in no hurry, content just to let his hands roam over top of Stiles’s clothing. Stiles ends up on his back with Peter bracketing him in, propped on his elbows. Peter starts to kiss down the side on Stiles’s neck, and he grinds their erections together lazily. Stiles finds himself arching up against Peter, and his brain quietly whispers _he’s going to notice there’s not much there._

Stiles thinks about saying something, but Peter’s mouth feels so good against his skin, and he’s running his fingers through Stiles’s hair, and Stiles tells his brain firmly to _shut the hell up_ , deciding he’ll just enjoy the here and now. It’s not hard – Peter’s mouth is very talented, and his stubble scrapes across Stiles’s skin like a brand, leaving a trail of ownership. Soon enough, he’s unbuttoning Stiles’s shirt and untucking it. He goes to start kissing Stiles again, but Stiles shakes his head. “Nuh uh, not fair, You’re still dressed.”

“Let’s fix that.” Peter strips out of his shirt and pants, leaving him only in his silk boxers. Stiles takes his time appreciating the sight that is a near naked Peter Hale, all muscle and dark hair and tanned skin. Peter climbs back on the bed next to him and Stiles runs a hand down his chest appreciatively. Peter smirks, and lays down on his back, tugging at Stiles so he’s on top. Stiles takes the opportunity to kiss Peter again, before pulling back so he can get his hands on all the compact muscle in front of him.

Just about everything about Peter’s body does it for him, and he spends long minutes running his hands up and down his chest and sides, before getting bold. Peter’s nipples are rosy and firm, and Stiles is transfixed by them. He wants to feel them in his mouth. He leans in and licks across one, and Peter lets out a sudden gasp. Peter’s not telling him to stop though, so Stiles put his whole mouth against the nub and sucks, earning a full body shudder from Peter, and a small moan. Stiles grins to himself, and does the same to the other side. Peter makes pleased noises, and squirms under him, before getting out a breathless, ”If you want me to fuck you tonight, you’d best stop that, sweetheart, because I’m awfully close.”

Stiles pulls away and looks up at Peter’s face, to find the man flushed and panting. “Really?”

Peter nods. “Really. You’re extremely arousing, sweetheart.” Stiles grins and goes back to kissing Peter, tangling his hands in his dark hair, messing it up deliberately. He lets his body find its own rhythm as they move against each other, Peter’s hands warm and strong against him. Peter has a firm thigh wedged between Stiles’s legs and he rocks up against it, feeling the thick muscle rub against him through his pants, making it hard to think when his body _wants_ so badly. They’re both moaning against each other now, Peter’s hands slipping into the back of his pants and kneading his ass. It’s awkward, and his waistband’s pulling uncomfortably, and Stiles knows it would feel a hell of a lot better if he was naked.

He sits back and starts to tug at the button on his pants. It pops free easily, and he yanks his zipper down. Peter’s going to see his shamefully small cock, and he doesn’t even care anymore, he just wants to feel skin on skin.  He shimmies out of his pants, heaving a sigh of relief. He shucks his boxers off as well, leaving him exposed to Peter’s gaze, and hears a sharp intake of breath. This is it - there’s no going back now.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter’s staring at him, open-mouthed, and Stiles can’t take it. “Sorry, it’s kinda small,” he finds himself saying.

Peter’s brow furrows at that.  “Stiles, that’s- it’s not _small_ , sweetheart.”

Stiles’s cock juts out proudly from his body, long and girthy, and at a little over nine inches, truly impressive. Peter reaches out and runs a finger down it reverently, before declaring,“It’s gorgeous.”

Stiles’s brain screeches to a halt for a second because wait, what?

“It’s not small?”

Peter’s sliding his own underwear down, and Stiles can see that Peter’s cock, which had felt so intimidatingly large through his clothing, is actually a little smaller than his own. Huh.  He doesn’t get too much time to think about it though, because Peter’s flipping him onto his back, pinning him down and kissing him hungrily.  

“It’s really not, sweet boy. It’s perfect. Now how about you lie back, and let me spend some time with my big, beautiful, friend here.” Peter wraps one hand around Stiles’s length and pumps slowly up and down. Stiles lets out an involuntary squeak at the sensation of someone else’s hand on his dick. Then Peter takes the head of Stiles’s cock in his mouth, and Stiles forgets about the size of his dick,  his insecurities, his nervousness -  forgets about anything except the incredible wet heat that’s Peter sucking him off.

Peter pulls away just long enough to purr, “I’m going to make you come just like this,” before going back to what he was doing, and soon Stiles is arching up and begging as Peter does wicked things with his tongue. Stiles knows he’s getting close, and he tugs on Peter’s hair in warning. Peter pulls off just as Stiles comes, working him through it with his hand. Stiles shudders and groans his way through his climax, his whole body trembling as he comes down. He gazes down the bed at Peter, grinning dopily.

Peter moves so he’s laying next to him and kisses him, asking “Did you enjoy that, sweetheart?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles manages. 

Peter curls up behind him, spooning him, his erection pressed against Stiles’s ass. “Let me know when you want to keep going,” Peter says, breath hot against Stiles’s ear.

Stiles nods, and rocks back against Peter, letting him know he’s good. “Wanna keep going, just, might need a minute,” he sighs. Peter hums in acknowledgement, and wraps an arm around Stiles firmly, pulling him close. Stiles leans back into him, enjoying the feeling of security he gets from being held like this. Peter’s kissing the back of his neck, and subtly scenting him. Stiles knows what he’s doing, and squirms out of his grasp, settling on his back with his head tilted back. “If you’re going to scent me, do it properly, wolfman.”  

Peter’s eyes light up and he leans in and inhales deeply. “Mmm, you do smell delicious, all sex and satisfaction.” He inhales once more, and then gives a sharp nip to Stiles’s collarbone. Stiles moans and his dick twitches at that, starting to fill. “Did you like that, baby?”

“Mhmmm.” His cock’s getting harder, and he opens one eye long enough to look at Peter and, “Want you to fuck me.”

“You’re sure?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I’m sure.” To emphasize his point, he rolls onto his front, reaches back, and holds himself open.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s such a pretty sight. I’m going to make this so good for you,” Peter purrs.

And he does.

* * *

 

 

He opens Stiles up gently, taking his time, stopping for kisses and soft words, inching each extra digit in slowly and easily, running his fingers over Stiles's sweet spot, and by the time he’s three fingers deep, Stiles’s cock is dripping with precome and he’s almost begging.  Peter runs his fingers over Stiles’s prostate one last time before pulling his hand out, causing Stiles to whine. It feels like Peter’s been playing with his ass for hours, and as good as his fingers feel, Stiles wants more. “Shhh, it’s OK, baby,” Peter soothes. He guides Stiles up onto his hands and knees, kissing his shoulder as he does so.

Stiles hears the sound of foil tearing, and there’s more lube spread around his hole, and finally, he feels Peter’s cock pressed against him. “Deep breath, and relax,” Peter tells him, then pushes steadily forwards until the head pops inside. Stiles is open, but Peter’s thick, and the sheer stretch of it stings a little. Stiles lets out a choked off sound, causing Peter to still.

Stiles takes a minute to breathe and relax, and to adjust to the feeling of Peter inside him, before he gives a nod. ”I’m good, keep going.” Peter takes Stiles at his word, and presses forward once more, easing inside. When he’s fully seated, Stiles lets out a deep groan. Peter pulls out almost all the way before pushing back in again, setting a slow, steady rhythm, and soon enough the sting eases and it starts to feel good. Stiles rocks back against the thrusts, causing Peter to hit his prostate. Stiles cries out loudly, and Peter makes it his mission to hit the same spot again and again. Stiles is hard and desperate, and he manages to get a hand under himself and stroke his cock in time with Peter’s movements.

Peter has his hands firmly wrapped around Stiles’s cock, slamming in while his breath comes in quick gasps. “Fuck, Stiles, fuck,” he pants out, sounding completely undone. Stiles is rapidly losing control, and his movements become shaky, uncoordinated. Peter fucks into him and hits his prostate at the same time as Stiles gives his cock one last, desperate pull, and Stiles is gone, climax ripped from his body, making him clamp down hard around Peter’s length as he cries out and comes all over his hand.

Peter starts fucking into him in short, sharp thrusts, urgent and relentless, fucks him through his orgasm and out the other side, while Stiles goes boneless beneath him and just enjoys the feeling of Peter’s cock filling his body. Peter slams in once more, letting out a single loud grunt. He holds himself stock still as he comes, and then slumps against Stiles’s back. Stiles can feel the scrape of his stubble where Peter’s pressed against his skin, and he smiles to himself hazily.

He’s had sex. He’s had sex with Peter, and after the first shocking stretch of it, it was good, really good. Peter didn’t  care about the size of his cock, and didn’t find him lacking. Maybe he isn’t. Stiles decides that maybe, he really doesn’t care. “Stop thinking so hard, sweetheart,” Peter mumbles against his spine. “It’s making you tense up and you’re ruining my afterglow.”

Stiles huffs out a laugh at that. ”You kinda need to move, anyway. You’re heavy.”

Peter steadies himself on his arms and pulls out, at the same time saying “Stiles, are you implying that I’m _fat_?  I’m a model!” The ridiculous statement distracts Stiles from the empty feeling in his ass for a moment, and then Peter’s stripping off the condom and disposing of it, and laying next to Stiles with his arms open. Stiles lets himself snuggle up against Peter willingly, sleepy and sex – drunk and completely satisfied.

“Thank you, sweetheart,“ Peter murmurs in his ear. “I’m flattered you chose me as your first.”

Stiles leans in and kisses Peter softly. “There’s no one else I’d trust.” Peter hums a little and gives a tiny nod, as if to say _that’s as it should be_.

Peter’s arms are warm and comforting, and Stiles is almost dozing, when Peter says, “Stiles, I have to ask. Who on earth told you you’re small?” His hand sneaks around and he hefts Stiles’s considerable length in his hand.

“Back in school, Jackson called me a freak, once. And compared to the guys in porn, I don’t have much,” he mumbles.

He feels hot air hit the back of his neck as Peter laughs quietly. “Jackson’s always been an idiot. And porn isn’t real, baby. Those men are far from average.”

And yeah, Stiles guesses that makes sense. Except – “What about my dad though?”

Peter’s silent for a moment, before saying, ”I know I’ll regret asking this, but are you telling me your father’s bigger than you?”

“Um, yeah? A _lot_ bigger. I saw him once, when I was sixteen. And I guess I just figured he was normal.”

Peter sighs deeply. “Firstly, I never want to hear about your father’s genitalia again.”

Stiles snorts. “Agreed. And secondly?”

“Secondly, I can only assume that the sheriff’s a very lucky man.”

Stiles twists around and places a peck on Peter’s cheek. ”Nope. I’m the lucky one.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
